Avarié
by z0riah
Summary: Avila Laprise enjoyed a simple life - but when her circumstances turned, she found herself on the run. She never believed her running would lead her to destiny. Totally new origins story so very different from most on here.
1. The Beginning

Disclaimer: I own my original characters – all other themes and such belong to the fantastical geniuses at Bioware. EA can suck it, however. Anyway, please critique at moments I may need it – I don't have a beta-reader so if anyone wants to do that… message me? And if I get anything wrong about the horses or anything like that, sorry! I'm not a horse-expert by any means (I'm getting all my info on Wiki for cripes sakes). Also let me know if I screw anything up Dragon Age lore-wise. And I know Orlesians didn't necessarily speak French but… I can't help myself.

Avarié

Chapter 1: The Beginning

Frost and snow quilted the land as it always had in the Frostback Mountains. The cold winds moaned through the evergreens and the frayed banners swayed in tandem. The voices of merchants outside of Orzammar's mighty stone walls could be heard over the wind and creaking of old wooden shacks, ready to succumb. They were all trying to make coin – for reasons of their own they left the Stone, mostly casteless degenerates trying to make a few silver pieces for their families left behind.

Avila Laprise was not such a creature. She did not worship any Stone or Maker or Dalish Gods. She worshiped the skill and quickness of her hands and feet, the litheness of her body, and her unassuming demeanor. All traits had served her well in life, even after her capture in the city of Denerim – a place full of nobles and merchants alike with pockets ready for picking and purses to be cut. It was not a perfect life for most, but it suited Avila well; until she got caught, of course.

Forced to flee from Denerim, she made her way west. It was a perilous journey, one that any decent lady would never make alone. Of course, she was no cosseted lady. Avila reveled in the uncertainty and danger of the unknown roads ahead. She had been trained to fight as a child by her father, an Orlesian chevalier.

Aubin Laprise had travelled to Redcliffe after his retirement, seeking a simpler life. With his new Ferelden wife, he raised a farm of horses and barley in the countryside. Avila was his only child and he sought to give her all that he had and more. The girl was trained in the Orlesian art of the rapier and riding horseback. She did not grow to be strong and stocky as he was; she took her mother's lissome body, tall and thin and with hair dark as ebony wood. He was not unhappy, however. He praised the quickness in her feet and her skill with the thrusting blade. "Yes, yes!" he would say, "You are truly a sight, _mon coeur_, truly. You move like the wind!"

He compared her to the great chevalier Ronsfarde, he who won a great duel to win the hand of the Princess Bernadine. Aubin would tell her stories of Ronsfarde and his adventures every night before bed. He had made up some of them to appease his daughter's delight in quests and danger. One of his fairy tales told of his part in ending the Second Blight. He had become a Grey Warden, a warrior of skill and bravery of no comparison. According to Aubin, Ronsfarde left his wife and children with tears in his eyes, promising to return, and led his brethren upon his Griffon to the Free Marches and ended the Blight. When he returned to Val Royeaux, his family stood at the front of their people, all awaiting the return of their hero. Also according to Aubin, they lived happily ever after; he would never tell his daughter that he had made up that particular tale for it made the hazelnut eyes they shared beam with a happiness that made his heart joyful beyond words.

The Laprise family lived a contented existence filled with true love and hard work.

When Aubin grew ill during Avila's sixteenth year, he could no longer work the farms as he once did. They were forced to sell the home they had built with their bare hands, sweat and blood. It was a difficult time for them for no Ferelden man was interested in raising horses more than eating their meat. Before that same year ended, unwilling to sacrifice his love of the horses for a man's belly, Aubin made the journey to Orlais with most of the small herd. He hoped to sell the strong and noble animals to those who would treat them with care. As he left, he turned back and looked at his family, tears in his eyes. Avila made him promise he would return, just as Ronsfarde had.

They waited for over a year.

Neither Avila nor Helena Laprise knew what had become of the rock of their home for he never returned. It was as if he had simply vanished into the setting western sun.

None took pity on them. As far as anyone knew or cared, the two women were Orlesian, traitors of Ferelden. Helena had no family of her own, and none would hire her for work. Aubin had left them their own horses for they would not hear of parting with them, thus they travelled to Denerim, to start anew with little more than a few pieces to their name.

Life in the city was difficult but not completely unpleasant for Avila. She and her mother had taken another name, to avoid prejudice that they had so endured. Though in their hearts they would always be Laprise, it was only they who would know their true name. To the world outside, they were known simply as Hunter.

Helena had sold her horse in a village so they could afford rent before entering Denerim. Avila would do no such thing. Hirondelle was her only comfort and memory of happier times. The two had argued endlessly, but in the end Avila came through victorious. Everyday Avila took comfort in brushing the spotted grey coat and braiding her fair mane. She moved like wind as Aubin had once described his daughter, they were a perfect match. Some days Avila was too weary to take Hirondelle outside of the city to exercise her legs and feel the freedom of rolling grass beneath her. Those days, Avila went to bed with a pit of guilt deep in her belly and in her heart.

Both mother and daughter toiled for a noble family – "Third cousins, once-removed of King Maric himself". They were more name-droppers than nobles for they had no real power or hordes of coin in their treasury. Combined, the two brought only six pieces home a day. It was not enough to care for themselves _and_ Hirondelle. Their home had become a battleground of arguments and fighting.

Eventually, Helena succumbed to her hatred of their poverty and attempted to sell the horse Avila so adamantly defended.

"She'll be eaten, mother! Like a cud-brained heifer! You are not Orlesian, you do not understand!" yelled she, red in the face.

To this her mother would scoff and mock, "You think you're Orlesian, don't you? Just like your father. You have no sense of reality, only dreams and romance. You believe everything is a grand tale. We do not live in any tale, girl. This is life and in life dreams do not put food in our bellies. That beast is nothing but a burden now, and you best understand it." Avila swore to her mother that she would find a way to make their lives easier, but she would not allow her beloved companion to be left to slaughter.

It was just after her eighteenth birthday that Avila lovingly adorned her leather plate, gloves and boots, given to her by her father when he thought her old enough. It did not fit as well as it used to for she was lighter now from days of hard work and no food. She was going to venture into the back alleys in search of work that offered more than scrubbing floors. She had grown to resent the wealthy of Denerim, those who had everything and gave nothing. Travelling through the back alleys was a dangerous business for it harboured Denerim's criminals. She fixed her belted scabbard around her waist and smiled into the small looking glass that hung on her wall.

The armoured girl opened the old wooden shutters that blocked the sun from her room and crawled out, careful not to attract attention. She would not risk going through the front door with her mother present.

Finding trouble was not as hard as one may think. Avila had crept into the shadows as a group of bandits walked about, talking of their recent conquests. One of them was a tall, pleasant looking fellow with a tanned face and dark curly hair. Avila found him handsome, more so than anyone she had seen in her life. He had a roguish demeanour and a wicked smile that made her heart flutter.

Something she had done had given her position away for before she could react, a pair of large hands grabbed her shoulders. She was thrown in plain sight and was surrounded.

"What's this," asked an older blonde man. He had a gruff voice and a beard to match, "A little wench, eh?"

"She's got some nice armour on 'er," said another, "Looks rich to me."

Avila scrambled to her feet and placed her hands on her hips, she turned towards the man who had first spoken, "I am Avila La - Hunter. I was hoping to perhaps find some way to make a little money. Think you boys can help?"

"We take what we want, girl. If it is yer body ye be sellin', we'll have it without price."

She turned red with anger and her left arm covered her chest, "I am no harlot! I am good with a blade and quick on my feet." Her rapier became unsheathed in a blink of an eye.

"Now, now – we've got a little one-woman bandit 'ere. How interestin' to see. Put yer damn sword away and we'll talk a little business. 'ow does that sound to ye, girl?" The man gave a toothless smile and crossed arms.

"Right," she said lamely. Her rapier returned to her side and she looked around her.

"Humph," the man grunted, "Well then, Miss Lahunter, follow me."

"_Lahunter_?" said Avila, "Oh. Right. Yes."

The men around her laughed. The handsome man she had noted before spoke, "Forgetting your made-up name already, miss?"

"Er, made-up? Of course not. That's my name. Lahunter."

"Well, Lahunter, I will be glad to have such a pretty lass among us. Call me Daveth ,if you will." This time she was red with embarrassment. She decided to leave well enough alone and turn to follow the older man.

That was the day Avila Laprise changed her identity. She was now known to the underworld as Lahunter. She was trained to use her deft hands to steal from others. Her mother was suspicious of her newfound affluence, but didn't question. They were fortunate to be doing well enough again. Avila was acquiring more than triple their daily pay combined, even with her superior taking half of her quarry. Within a few months, they were able to afford a nice home just outside of the city gates. A pleasant change for them and especially for Hirondelle who was now able to eat all the grass she wanted.

The thief kept mostly to herself, never letting anyone know her real life outside of the underground. She refused to speak of her parents – even to Daveth who proved to be a friendly sort, however lecherous. Avila found his flirtations to be funny and a pleasant distraction from the grimness of the alleys. They found themselves content with the present, not bothering with questions of the past. Eventually, the two found themselves working together: Lahunter distracted the prey with flirtations or questions and Daveth took their purses.

It was a Tuesday afternoon and the Market District was bustling. Daveth lazily munched on an apple as Avila scouted for easy prey, namely newcomers to Denerim who were unaware of the dangers of a seemingly interested woman. There she found a dwarf who still had his travelling pack hanging from his shoulders. He had a brown beard that reached his waist and heavy brows that hid his eyes. Avila smiled to herself and gave a signal to Daveth. When he didn't respond, she turned to him and scoffed. He was busying himself with the backsides of women. "Idiot," she said under her breath. She decided she would do this herself for it had been many weeks since she had cut a purse.

She made her way behind the dwarf and watched carefully. One did not simply walk up to a victim to claim their prize – that got many a thief branded and even hanged if one was caught too many times. She followed him around the populous square, careful not to lose him in the crowd. His short stature made him a difficult prey, but not too difficult for Lahunter. Eventually she discovered where he kept his purse. She would have to get it done before he bought anything else. Slowly, she crept towards the unsuspecting creature with a small knife hidden in her sleeves. She had her knife on the purse's strings when a rough hand jerked her back. She turned; her eyes wide in surprise. To her dismay, a guard stood before her, a hand on his hilt and a murderous glare. The dwarf who was supposed to be her victim looked at the guard with a smile and thanked him graciously.

"Thief, you will come with me quickly and quietly," he said. A small crowd of onlookers had come. Daveth, who had been previously occupied, saw that his fellow thief had been caught. He immediately left the market, feeling guilty of leaving her behind. However guilty he felt, he knew there was nothing he could do to prevent the inevitable. He returned to the alleys to tell their superiors what had transpired.


	2. Repercussions

**AN**: So, the first chapter was largely ignored... hopefully that's not a testament that this is horrible! If you read it and don't like it – please critique (not trolling though, two totally different things)! That's the only way a writer improves. The first few chapters will be kind of like a prologue – explaining how the hero ended up where she was and eventually she will become a Grey Warden (this is a Dragon Age story after all) so just bear with her beginnings as they are essential to the rest of the story (just as the Origins stories from canon are). BTW – my take on a new Dragon Age origins story was inspired by lillgremlin's "Dragon Age: A New Origin" - check it out!

Chapter 2: To the West

Avila knew this was the end of her career. They had all seen her face and soon she would be branded a thief... unless she ran. She suddenly jerked her hand from the guard and bolted, not quite knowing where to go. The guard groaned audibly and started after the criminal. Two other guards had joined him, seeing the commotion. Avila knew not where to run – she couldn't lead the guards to her brethren, nor could she lead them to her home. The only solution she saw was to climb the buildings and hide for a while. Without further thought, she started to scale a nearby home. It was easy enough for her to get to its roof. She ran atop the homes and shops until she felt it was safe to desist. She lay upon the hot roof and began to weep.

Questions of how she would return to her home clouded her mind. Her mother would hate her for this, for getting in so much trouble. And her father...The thought of her father's face pushed her over the brink of emotions. He would be so ashamed. His daughter was a fugitive of the law, a common thief. She heard guards below her, confused.

"She just disappeared!" said one.

The other groaned, "We'll put posters up – the wench won't show her face 'round here anymore. We've got a whole district that knows her damn face. She'll be caught, don't worry. Then she'll have a hot poker on her wrist."

To this Avila whimpered.

"Did you hear that?" asked the first man, "Sounded like it came from..."

"The roof!" they said together. Avila cursed and got ready to run. She made more noise than she had hoped while getting up. She began to run, this time without thought of where she was going. Turning her head behind her for a moment, she saw a few guards in the distance, running in her direction. That split second she had turned was fatal in her escape. She had not noticed the weakness of the roof and fell into the building.

The family inside had been eating a simple lunch when they heard a crash in the children's bedroom. The father ran into the room and gasped. The roof that he had been meaning to repair had caved in. He thanked the Maker that he had refused his children's request to eat in their room. It was then that he noticed a groaning and slight movement beneath the wreckage. He called for his wife and started to remove the debris. To his amazement, an injured woman had emerged. He cried out to the Maker in his surprise.

"Maker's breath!" cried he, "What were you doing above my house?"

Avila groaned and turned her head away in response. Moments after she fell, guards had surrounded her. The guard that had first caught her shook his head, "I told you not to run." He hoisted her over his shoulder and took her away.

She awoke several hours later with pain she had never felt before. Her left leg throbbed mercilessly and her hands burned. She sat up and felt her head wildly spin; her sight was blurred and she felt her stomach twist. Unable to contain herself, she vomited onto the floor beside her. A sharp pain emanated from the hand supporting her body. She quickly raised it to her face and saw her fingers were swollen and bent. Her knuckles were displaced and badly bruised. The other arm would not even raise – it was useless. She leaned her head on the bars behind her and silently cried.

Her silent worries were interrupted by the sound of heavy-booted feet. Two women clad in official-looking armour walked around the corner of Avila's cell. Both looked upon the battered woman with sympathy in their eyes. One of the women produced a key and opened the door.

"We are here to dress your wounds. Your fall produced many injuries." She had a soft voice. It was a strange sound coming from such a formidable-looking woman. Avila nodded in compliance; even if she had the ability, she would not have run for she knew she would have been cut down before she opened the door. Furthermore she was grateful for their softness.

The women gingerly helped the woman onto a bed that was prepared not far from the cell. They removed her soiled clothes and assessed her wounds. No patch of skin was free from bleeding cuts and bruising. Both hands were broken from wrist to fingers and the leg she had landed on was broken.

The other woman sighed while pressing her fingers to Avila's torso, "How is your breathing? Are you having any difficulties?"

Avila shook her head, still unwilling to speak. Truth be told, there was a pain in her chest when she breathed but it did not hinder her.

"Thank the Maker for that, I can feel a dislocated rib. You must trust us; you will feel much pain when we attempt to set your rib and shoulder. There is a chance you will never use that arm again," to this Avila let out a choked sob, "There, there." She removed her glove and patted the crying woman's hair, "I won't lie and say your troubles will be over. You are to be branded when you have healed enough to make your jailor content. 'Twould be best for you to leave Denerim when you are released. Those who are branded are more often than not unable to find any work – legal or no."

Avila closed her eyes when they began their healing. She could not help but scream in pain. When they began to set her broken leg, the world began to swim around her until it was nothing but darkness. Her dreams were haunted by her father's saddened face. He saw her in the cell, pathetic and alone save the rats. He turned his back to her and wept for his lost daughter, "Avila Laprise is no more. The only name you are worth to be called is Lahunter. I am ashamed of my daughter."

She awoke crying out for her father. She did not know how long she had been in the cell with a sling and her leg heavily bandaged. The jailor sat beside her cell, looking at her. He had a look of interest in his eyes. She turned away and waited for sleep to once again claim her. It did no such thing. Even her own body refused to show her mercy.

"You were crying, you know. I am no scholar but even I know what Orlesian sounds like." He said, "I've never met an Orlesian thief in Denerim. The women seem too prissy to do such a thing."

She gave a slight smile for she knew he was right. "I am not from Orlais if that is what you ask."

"Oh?" He didn't mask his surprise, "You have a bit of an accent, though. It's your parents, isn't it?"

She refused to answer.

He sighed, "Just trying to pass the time, I meant no offense." There was a pregnant pause, "Well, you seem to be healing well. I expect you to be back on your feet in a few months."

"Does that mean I have to be ... branded now?" she asked. Her voice was thick with fear.

He rubbed his forehead, "Aye, miss. It will burn for at least a week, or so I've been told."

"So you've been told," said she, incredulously, "Do you converse with thieves often, ser?"

The man had a bitter laugh, "Once a thief always a thief – or that's what the captain says, at least. Most men that come through here come back some time or another. I don't see a lot of women come in as thieves, though it's not unheard of. 'Specially the knife-ears. Those ones are usually hanged at first offense – no matter if it's man or woman. Poor slobs. You, however, have been shown great compassion. Even with your charges of destruction. "

"That roof was ready to fall down," she argued, "it would have fallen if a cat had treaded there."

"And so it was noted by the man living there. You are fortunate that he is so charitable. If it were not for him, you could've been strung up."

At his words Avila blanched. She felt the goose bumps rise along her arms and neck. She breathed in heavily to calm herself, "How long will I be held here?"

"Not long after the branding. You've already been here a good two weeks- "

She interrupted him; "Two weeks!" she held her face in her better hand, "I'm as good as dead."

"Ah, you're boss won't be too happy, eh? I think you'll be alright. It'd be bad business if they killed all've their caught, er... employees."

"No, not him; he likes me, he'd let me go if I wanted. It's my mother." Avila groaned as the jailor laughed. "Ser, you've never met the woman. She'll have my hide."

They spoke for the rest of that afternoon, until Avila had been taken to be branded as a thief. They had heated the end of iron that was fashioned into a large "T". Avila felt herself quaking and looking for some eyes of comfort but there were none. Where the healers and the jailor had been kind, the men here were cold. She knew she deserved as much. She was a criminal and this, to them, was her atonement. The jailor had mentioned that many years ago, thieves were branded on their faces. She counted herself lucky to not endure that.

The feeling of hot iron against the flesh of her arm was worse than any wounds suffered before. Sounds erupted from her that she had not thought possible. It seemed forever before the brand was removed, and even then she could not suppress the moans of pain. As they moved her along, she saw another man put in her place. She had been walked down the hall when his guttural screams were heard.

She was then taken to a room with a single desk and a squirrelly man. He had piles of documents before him and empty bottles of ink. She was brought before him and he looked up with a single raised eyebrow.

The guard turned her arm towards the man and he sighed, "Another pickpocket, I see. The conditions of your release are as such: you shall give me your name and any aliases you go by. Failure to give me such information will result in further incarceration. You will sign the documents of your release by your true name – if you cannot write, you will simply draw an 'X' showing your compliance. Am I clear?"

Avila nodded and spoke, "I am A-Avila Hunter. I am also called Lahunter."

"Lahunter?" he said, "Not very imaginative, eh? I suppose not all criminals are creative. Any other names, miss?"

"N-no, ser." She stuttered, wincing in pain of her recent branding.

The man noticed and gave a grim smile, "The pain only lasts a week, two at most. It will blister."

She nodded and hobbled toward the desk, reaching for a quill. He pushed the document forth and pointed to where she would sign.

Her script was not what he expected. Most thieves had simply signed _X_, a testament to their unfortunate standing. She, however, had decent handwriting - especially for someone without a good hand. He did not expect to see this one again; he figured she had only been drawn by the excitement of crime and had learned her lesson. He was only half right.

As the guards escorted her home (she could not walk by herself), Avila wondered how she would face her mother, let alone explain her two-week long disappearance and her obvious injuries. The massive city gates were opened and Avila could already see her home. The chimney was spewing black smoke and, to Avila's relief, Hirondelle's form could be seen pacing the paddock that had been built. She sighed in dismay for she would never be able to find _legal _work again and she was unwilling to test the limits of the law in Denerim. Hirondelle was, in fact, a large burden and without her income...

Avila refused to think of selling her faithful mare. It was at her door that she realized she would have to leave. She had no time to contemplate for her mother had swung open the door. Avila noticed the lines on her face that hadn't been there before and an expression of worry and anger.

"You," she yelled, "had better have an explanation, girl! I have been worried out of my mind – _TWO WEEKS_! I had to be told from a guard that you had been arrested, _arrested!_" she went silent and looked over her daughter's injuries, "Maker's breath, Avila, what happened?" Helena's eyes filled with tears as she helped her daughter into a chair. The guards stood awkwardly at the door, not sure of what they should do. When they received an icy glare from the woman, they decided it would be best in their interest to leave.

When the door was closed, Avila felt the large pit in her stomach return. She did not relish the thought of further punishment. She felt utter surprise when her mother gingerly wrapped her arms around her and kissed her forehead. "Promise me you'll never put me through anything like that again." Avila gave a choked sob. When her injuries had healed, she would have to leave her only family.


	3. Preparations, Separations

Thanks to all who have reviewed and added to their favourites! Also a special thanks to Lilliwyn for speedy reading and fixing up.

Chapter 3: Preparations, Separations

Helena had become very attached to her daughter during her time of healing. She had noticed her aloofness, the very same tactic used by her husband all those years ago when he had decided to leave. The woman knew her daughter would follow his footsteps into the western horizon, but knowing didn't make the certainty easier to bear.

Every day she wondered what life would be if Aubin had not left. Their misfortune had only been an excuse for him; he had wanted to return to Orlais far before his illness had befallen him. She knew that when he left, it would be their last embrace. Of course Avila could never know. It was better for her to remember him as he was, not for what he had done. She saw so much of him in her: his pride and sense of adventure … and of course there was his hard dark eyes and aquiline nose.

She sat deep in her thoughts with her spidery fingers rubbing her temples. Ever since her daughter disappeared she had experienced mind-numbing migraines; a pain not even the strongest of poultices could ameliorate. As Avila's leg grew stronger, Helena's happiness weakened. It would only be a matter of time before she revealed her intention of leaving. As of that moment, Avila had retreated indefinitely to her room, unable to walk on the damaged leg. Two months had passed without much improvement with her leg but thankfully her hands were almost back to normal. The brand had healed into a nasty red "T" that splintered out in thin veins and she had taken to wrapping the eyesore in burgundy cloth.

Helena was drawn from her musings by shuffling and cursing from Avila's bedroom. After a few minutes of the noise, the young woman emerged. She was leaning heavily on a gnarled cane that Helena had fashioned and her face was twisted with sorrow and regret. With a curious eye Helena watched her hobble to the daybed and sit. The mother sighed and moved to sit with her daughter. Avila slowly positioned her head atop her mother's shoulder and cried.

"My love, what troubles you so?" Her words were soft and quiet.

Avila brought her entwined hands to her mouth and bit down, trying to control her tears. "Father would hate me. He'd hate what I've become." Helena's eyes closed and her brow furrowed in frustration.

"He would be ... upset, but he could never hate you just as I can never feel anything less than love for you." Helena's smile was grim, "You mustn't ever doubt this. You are our flesh and blood; nothing can be done to lessen our bond. Have you felt less love for him since he left?"

A choked sob escaped Avila's thin lips, "N-no."

"You have your answer, then. If he were to walk through the door at this moment, he would not think of your mistakes. He would only feel his joy of seeing his precious girl all grown up. He would be proud that you learned your lessons well, that you have gone through difficulties and you have passed them with dignity."

"What dignity do I have? I have been branded like cattle! I can never be normal again for my choices have rendered me useless..." Her lips formed curled and her face dimpled as fresh tears fell. "I wish I could go back in time, knowing what I know now. Sometimes I wish that I," she paused to breath, "that we had gone with father. Maybe we would still be together, or at least we would know if he still lived. I could have protected him or, I don't know. I could have done something. I feel so useless sitting here while you do everything to keep us together. I cannot help but feel _so_beyond guilt in my heart. I cannot help but feel anger and frustration and – and." She breathed in, her breaths were ragged. "and I can't help but feel that he _wanted_to go. That he wanted to leave. Why do I feel like this? I don't understand this pain and I don't know if I ever will with him gone.

"I can't help but be selfish because I know you miss him, too. I don't see how the sun can rise every morning and he's still not here. He's gone and I know he'll never come back and that I'll never see him again. I wish I could forget. I wish I could bury my heart; it is such a burden."

Nothing but a sigh escaped her mother's lips. She was tempted to reveal that he had left on volition rather than necessity but to do that would break Avila's heart. Facing a difficult decision, she changed the subject and willed her daughter to venture outside.

The cane lay listlessly in the grass and Hirondelle nickered; it was rare to see her beloved human. The light-haired mare hoped to stretch her legs again with her human for it was the one thing that lifted both of their hearts. The cries that erupted from the human's body drowned her hopes. Hirondelle knew that the human was gravely injured when it had returned home both in body and spirit; she recognized that it was the same sadness that had peaked all those years ago. To Hirondelle, it was such a long time that she had not thought about it. As the mother and child sat in the grass silently, Hirondelle impatiently stamped her hooves into the dirt. When they took no notice of her discontent, she whinnied loudly, hoping to catch the humans' attention.

When that didn't work, Hirondelle stomped her hooves again and began pacing in her corral. _Why won't my human notice me?_she thought, agitated. She whinnied again, louder this time. _Is it hurt again?_ Her agitation rewarded her with sideways glances from the humans. Avila reached for her cane and arduously stood, using her mother as support.

"Have you been taking her out for rides, mum?" she asked.

Helena nodded, "Every other day we go for an hour-long ride and she grazes for a bit near the river. She misses you, dear girl. She can't wait for you to get better." Avila scoffed as she hobbled to the distressed mare. As she approached the gate, Hirondelle calmed and slowly walked towards her as she let out a deep nicker.

When she opened the gate, she simply stood in front of Hirondelle with her eyes closed. One hand held the cane while the other caressed Hirondelle's warm neck; their breaths were deep in tandem. A lingering peace filled Avila's heart and her troubles seemed to melt away in those moments. A rare smile caressed her lips as Hirondelle lowered her head and snuggled close to her neck.

...∞...

The cane was burnt on a Thursday. In eight months time, Avila's leg had almost completely healed and she had begun preparations for a long journey, all the while trying to be secretive about her departure.

She frequented the Wonders of Thedas shop to pour over their maps and copy their details. The proprietor did not seem to mind though Avila had noticed he did not mind much of anything. He never spoke unless spoken to which made her uneasy. She never understood anything about mages or _Tranquil_mages, as he had described himself. She had never seen a mage though she would not have known what to look for.

"Why do they make mages tranquil?" she asked one day.

The mage looked at her, his eyes blank, "The Circle of Magi puts mages they deem too weak or too dangerous through the Rite of Tranquillity. It is also an option for mages unwilling to go through the Harrowing. It is not unpleasant. I find this state agreeable."

"What do you mean dangerous?"

"Mages who are considered dangerous are put through the Rite of Tranquillity. The Circle finds these mages to have potential of learning Blood Magic. Blood Magic is forbidden by the Chantry."

"Were you dangerous?"

"I was unwilling to go through the Harrowing. I find being tranquil agreeable. I do not have to fear possession of a demon."

"Isn't forced ... tranquil-making cruel? I mean, shouldn't they have a choice?"

The mage blinked, "Tranquil mages do not feel emotion. I do not know if it is _cruel_." He said the last word, unknowing what meaning was behind it and changed the subject. "If you would like to study maps, there is a larger selection on the back shelf. The Wonders of Thedas holds host to many maps of Thedas, including maps of the underground Dwarven kingdoms. Maps of the like cannot be found in the Chantry library."

"Maybe they should make all mages tranquil," she muttered. The Tranquil either did not notice or did not care to answer.

Avila's hand cramped after many hours of studying the world beyond Denerim and Redcliffe, circling all of Ferelden's largest cities in the crudely drawn maps. Simply wandering the land with no plan or action seemed the best way to die young and penniless in a ditch. She contemplated a life in the far Western reaches of Ferelden. How symbolic to live amongst dwarves, for it was one of their own that triggered her imprisonment.

Groaning, Avila replaced the dark veil over her face and hair. She had recently taken to wearing one so that she would not risk being noticed by anyone in the bustling market streets. Like a shadow, she slipped through the crowds unnoticed while clutching her journal, hoping that _slipping_through wouldn't place her under more suspicion by the vigilant guards. Although she had severed her contacts with the underworld, she had heard through whispered rumours that since her near-escape, the guards had doubled their patrols through the city and were cracking down on illicit activities. The alley-ways were no longer safe harbour for criminals; Avila couldn't help but wonder of where they now hid. They had most likely turned to the Alienage for their safe-keeping - at least for now, anyway.

She was not familiar with the elves except of their shiftiness. Whenever they were mentioned at home, father would speak of their utter deceit – charlatans who hated humans but were ever eager to please them and take their coin. Like her father before her, Avila did not associate herself with elves – even those who she had worked with before turning to cutting purses. She never understood their smiling faces plastered only to please for she herself had hated working for nobles and would never dream to hide it; it was their unashamed brown-nosing that stirred more irritation than the haughty nobles themselves. Her father had called them _knife-ears_, and claimed their only purpose was to look pretty and live lives of servitude - and they should have been contended to do so. That or they lived on the street begging for coin from anyone they see. She was sure that if she had been born one, she would die before living such a life and that fact allowed her disgust for them to grow.

To ask for coin seemed ludicrous to Avila even though she had spent nearly a year as a thief. The difference in her mind was that she got what she wanted with her skills, not pity from strangers; those who did nothing but sit and beg were irreparably and irrefutably lazy. It gave her a sense of peace, though perverted as it may be that there were always those below her. She had learned this while jailed. _Specially the knife-ears. Those ones are usually hanged at first offense – no matter if it's man or woman._During these thoughts, Avila glared towards a group of haggard elves, a man and his children begging for coin.

"Please, miss, spare a bit of coin or some food. My children and I haven't eaten in days." His voice was weak and his face furrowed and pale. His children had tear-tracked faces and the youngest girl was holding a ratty doll. Avila scoffed and inadvertently jingled the small purse that hung at her hip. "May the Maker forgive you for mocking the weak, _shem_." He said the word like it was poison on his lips.

Avila turned, "Get a job. You sit here and exploit your children when you could be productive with your life." She opened her purse and fingered a silver piece, "Surely that's practically a sovereign for your kind."

Without taking the coin, the elf stood with his children and raised his head to match her eyes, "You are a coward to prey on the weak." He walked away before Avila could say a word. She kicked the coin and continued on her way noticing a mixture of disapproving glares and amused smiles.


End file.
